


soul words

by skatzaa



Category: The Scorpio Races - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon Compliant, F/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-29 00:23:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10842582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skatzaa/pseuds/skatzaa
Summary: I figure this fandom deserves all of the silly little tropes larger fandoms have, so here, have this. Based on the fact that we see, in chapter twenty-three, Sean offer acapallto Puck, but we don’t get her response.





	soul words

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on tumblr. I'll probably return to it someday and expand upon this idea, but until then, I hope you enjoy this!

I grow up naturally defensive of Dove’s size, since the first thing my soulmate is supposed to say to me is _“keep your pony off this beach_.” 

I’m also unwilling to let people tell me what to do, as a general rule, but Finn says that’s just the way I am and I can’t blame my soulmate for that. He’s probably right, but I don’t like to admit it to him, because he makes the most ridiculous face when he’s right. 

*

I spend my school years yelling at bullies like Joseph Beringer despite the fact that they’re usually twice my size, even then. It’s either because they pick on me, which is irritating but something I can live with, or because they pick on Finn, which is much worse of an offense in my mind, because Finn is quiet and shy and a little different, but he’s still my brother. 

I remind everyone relentlessly that Dove is a horse, thank you, but it’s never the first thing a person says to me. That’s fine, by my account, because I don’t really want to be stuck with someone who looks down on my horse anyway. 

By the time I’m nineteen and our parents are gone and Gabe is leaving, I don’t spend much time thinking about the words on my arm. The island is divided in opinion on soul words: Old Thisby followers invest a lot in the concept of soulmates, and talk about how the island provides even as it takes. Most of those who attend Mass, led by Father Mooneyham, pretend to disregard soul words, because we should trust God to guide us, rather than an antiquated pagan tradition unique to Thisby and the mainland. 

I’m not sure where I fall on the whole soul words business, but I don’t have time to worry about it, not with trying to keep us afloat with painting teapots and begging work off Dory Maud when the sisters are feeling charitable. And when I do allow myself to think about it, late at night when I should be sleeping, I decide that a soulmate doesn’t matter. On an island as small as Thisby, it’s hard not to meet everyone in nineteen years, which means they’re probably from the mainland. If that’s the case, the whole soulmates thing becomes a moot point, because I never plan to leave Thisby. 

*

The first day I bring Dove to the beach, I’m painfully aware of how insignificant we are: Dove is a horse, but she’s a small one, and the _capaill_ are untamed giants around us. We brave the ocean, because it’s safer than the beach right now; a _capall_ isn’t likely to make landfall here, not with all the other water horses. I keep an eye on the waves anyway. 

This means I only have one eye to keep on the beach, and it’s a mistake that nearly kills us. 

The gray stallion is upon us before I can do anything but jerk Dove to one side, and then I’m choking on salt water and trying to get out of my sweater before the _capall_ can drag me out to sea. 

The tension on the back of my sweater disappears, and I push my way to the surface. I gasp for air and try to see where Dove is, try to make sure she’s okay, but the water around me is wild with the movements of the _capall uisce_. I hardly have time for another breath before something crashes into the side of my head. 

I sink back under the surface, half blind from the hit and the sting of salt in my eyes, but I have to make sure Dove is okay. 

I make it onto my feet in time to see someone else fall below a wave. The great, terrible body of the _capall_ floats near me, but I reach for the man, because I can’t let him get hurt from my stupidity. My hand finds his face and I pull him up, hoping he’s okay, that Dove is okay. 

It’s the boy from the butcher’s shop--Sean Kendrick. We both shiver in the October air, and then he says, “Keep your pony off this beach.” 

It isn’t until I’m nearly home, poor, sweet Dove trailing behind, that I realize what he said. 

I scowl at the road before us. Any fascination I felt in relation to him disappears. I can’t remember if I said anything back. 

*

Sean Kendrick is an easy person to dislike, with his prickly personality and bloodthirsty horse. 

Despite myself and his cutting looks and sharp words, we race together everyday at the top of the cliffs, overlooking the chaos of the training below. He looks at me with respect, and I know I look back. 

When I see Sean in the surf below Corr, face-down and not moving, I can feel my heart in my throat and my pulse in my wrist. 

It’s one of the worst moments of my life. And then Sean reaches up. 

*

Much later, during another October fraught with much less danger, Sean and I stand on the cliffs and watch the chaos below. His jacket is over my shoulders, but both of our forearms are bare. One says _keep your pony off this beach_. The other says _well, alright_. 

I smile and take Sean’s hand. Sean smiles back, eyes on the sea.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! As always, comments and kudos are appreciated.
> 
> Read On,  
> Skats


End file.
